


like holy wine

by yeahloads



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Male Lactation, Mpreg, That's it, gross domestic nonsense, harry calling jeff 'jeffrey' because that's how i roll, incidental boners bc shit happens, that's the entire fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22314046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeahloads/pseuds/yeahloads
Summary: A bath, a massage, and some post-baby feelings. Oh, and some Joni Mitchell.
Relationships: Jeff Azoff/Harry Styles
Comments: 11
Kudos: 38





	like holy wine

**Author's Note:**

> This has become colloquially known as 'hazoff postpartum (.)(.)' and that should tell you everything you need to know. If you're Harry or Jeff, please don't read this.
> 
> Originally posted on [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/harryseyebrows). I'm on [tumblr](https://harryseyebrows.tumblr.com/), too, if you want to yell at me.

He’s read the books and web articles. He’s spoken to his doctor. He knows, rationally, that what he’s dealing with is a perfectly normal (but no less serious or important, according to Jeff) case of postpartum depression. Something that he was certain, even before he got pregnant, that he would never experience, even if by sheer will alone. 

Except some things can’t be avoided, no matter how hard you try. 

Their son, Jamie, is born perfect. Absolutely, stunningly perfect. He has ten fingers and ten toes, Harry’s ears and Jeff’s kind almond eyes. He’s sweet and quiet and loves a warm body to nap on. Harry feels like he should be happier, really. But instead, he mostly just feels overwhelmingly tired. Like simply getting out of bed wastes too much energy to do anything else after. 

As a result, him and Jeff have become pseudo-recluses, hardly ever leaving the house for anything that isn’t strictly necessary, like doctor appointments and grocery shopping. Even then, Harry finds himself feeling prickly and unfoundedly anxious, ready to return home and curl up with Jamie on the armchair in their living room, where he can be absolutely certain that he’s safe and cared for. 

However, the combination of physical exhaustion, hormone levels that haven’t returned to their normal equilibrium yet, and all of the stressors that come with having a newborn have taken their toll on Harry in the past weeks. Jeff has been looking increasingly worried, in which his already nervous baseline is exacerbated every time he asks what’s wrong and Harry assures him that _everything is fine_. Harry would feel guiltier about it, but he’s just so _tired_ , all the time. 

After having dinner, feeding the baby, and successfully putting him down for the night, all Harry wants to do is bury himself under a mountain of blankets and sleep for a week. But Jeff knocking on their bedroom door—despite it being open—forces Harry to pull himself up from his reclined position and plaster a smile on his face. 

“Can I come in?” Jeff asks, already stepping into the room. 

“Yeah. I was just resting for a minute.”

Jeff sits on the edge of the mattress by Harry’s knees. “You okay?” 

It’s become a staple question lately. One that Harry answers truthfully far less than he should. He just doesn’t want to make Jeff worry, even though he can tell that when he lies, Jeff sees right through it. 

“Yeah, ‘m good. Gonna take a shower, actually. Unless you need one and wanna go first,” Harry says, placing a hand on Jeff’s thigh. He’s been making an effort to be more tactile, to bring back some casual intimacy despite feeling a little maxed out on physical contact. 

Jeff twists his mouth for a moment, contemplative. “What about a bath?”

“You’re a grown man. You can take a bath if you want to,” Harry says, laughing softly. “I think I still have some bubble soap you can add.”

“I meant _you_ , doofus. But thank you.” Jeff prods at Harry’s cheek with a single finger, right over where his dimple is taking shape. 

“Might be nice. Haven’t had one in a while.” Harry shrugs. There’s an easy warmth settling over him, this bone-deep contentedness of having the person he loves looking after him. 

Jeff turns his hand to thumb over Harry’s cheek before standing. “C’mon. You come find your soap and I’ll run the water.”

The bathroom mirror is foggy by the time Harry sheds his clothes and steps into the sudsy, steaming water. He doesn’t think too hard about how the fluorescent lights highlight all of his lumps and bumps and jagged pink stretch marks, or the still-there swell of his baby belly that hasn’t gone away yet, despite it being a little over three weeks since Jamie was born. He hasn’t had the time lately to think about his physical appearance much, never mind lament the loss of his old body. He created a human being; he’s just mostly in awe of what still feels like some sort of divine experience that he was lucky enough to be granted. 

With bubbles nearly up to his chin, Harry sinks down far enough that the back of his neck is resting on the lip of the tub, his whole body submerged and warm. His muscles slowly start to loosen, the wear of the day melting out of him like honey. His skin tingles as he sighs and shuts his eyes. 

The toilet lid squeaks; Jeff, who’s sitting on it, must have moved. “Good?” Jeff asks. 

“Great. This is the nicest I’ve felt in weeks,” Harry assures. It’s true. With each passing second he can feel himself gradually restoring. Evidently showering hasn’t been enough. 

There’s the clack of plastic on the counter top, then the opening notes of ‘A Case of You’ make their way out of a mildly tinny iPhone speaker. Harry finds himself smiling again. He cracks one of his eyes open.

“You’re pulling out all the stops tonight, huh?” 

Jeff’s cheeks turn a bashful pink. He shifts in his seat. “You deserve some relaxing time. I know you’ve been stressed.”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to blush. He wants so badly to deny it and quell Jeff’s worries. Instead, he simply nods. 

A few minutes pass with the only sounds being the twang of acoustics and Joni Mitchell’s voice reverberating around the bathroom. However, Jeff’s voice gently interrupts halfway through ‘California’ to ask, “Do you want me to wash your hair for you?”

Harry washed his hair yesterday. Technically, he doesn’t need to. But Harry can tell that maybe Jeff needs this as much as he does; to touch and nurture and act where words might fall short. 

“Yeah. You—that’d be really nice.”

It takes a few minor adjustments—Harry sits up and turns for easier access, Jeff knee-walks across the tile and squeezes Harry’s shoulders—before Jeff picks up the plastic cup they use for Jamie’s baths and begins to wet Harry’s hair, being careful to shield his eyes with his free hand, guiding him into a more tipped-back position. 

Once everything is sufficiently wet, Jeff works a generous dollop of shampoo into Harry’s scalp and hair, sure fingertips rubbing in firm circles, combing it back off of his forehead. 

Harry lets his head loll, content to be moved where Jeff needs him while he finishes lathering and rinsing, letting out an occasional hum. There’s the flick of a bottle being opened—Harry’s vanilla and coconut body wash—and Jeff’s fingers return, this time moving over Harry’s shoulders, neck, and back. 

By the time he’s finished and asking Harry if he wants to use the showerhead to rinse, Harry feels like all of his bones and muscles have been replaced with jello. 

“I’ll stand if you help me,” Harry says. 

Jeff does precisely that, making sure that Harry is completely soap free before ushering him out of the tub, patting him dry, and helping him slip on his favorite bathrobe. 

Harry tumbles onto their bed in a daze, ready to fall asleep at any given moment. But then he feels the mattress dip beside him, as Jeff stretches out and curls an arm around Harry’s waist. 

“Hey, don’t bail on me now. I was gonna rub your back for you. Use that lotion you like,” Jeff says, voice nearly a whisper. 

A tiny thread of guilt starts to weave its way through Harry’s ribs. Jeff is being so kind and patient with him, going out of his way to do things _just_ for Harry. He wants to reciprocate, to offer something nice in return. But instead, he finds himself saying, “You don’t have to.” 

Jeff, who’s too perceptive for his own good, counters, “I don’t have to, or you don’t want me to?”

“It’s just getting kinda late, is all. Jamie might wake up soon. He’s been—”

“He’s been sound asleep the entire time. Baby monitor hasn’t even made a peep.” Jeff props his head up on a hand, eyes darting quickly back and forth between Harry’s own, searching. “If you’re really too tired I’ll stop bugging you. I just wanted to offer.”

The siren call of an early bedtime is incredibly tempting. But his husband is really trying, here. Harry owes it to him to at least be a little more receptive to his gestures. 

He threads his fingers through Jeff’s hair, smiling at the few gray strands he vehemently denies the existence of, and ignores the growing weight in his own gut. “A quick one. I need my beauty sleep, Jeffrey.” 

Jeff looks like a kid in a candy store as he hops off the bed and practically bounds to the bathroom, returning only a few seconds later with the bottle of fancy lotion Harry got in a gift basket at his baby shower. It smells like sugar cookies. 

“Get on your belly and take the robe off,” Jeff says, sounding positively giddy. 

Harry can’t help the soft little laugh that escapes. “This is just an excuse to get me naked, isn’t it?” Even still, he pushes his robe off and gets on his front, head pillowed by his folded arms. 

“Are you gonna be mad if I tell you that’s definitely part of it?”

“No,” Harry snorts. “You better make this worth my while, though.”

He was only teasing, but Jeff takes it very seriously. Harry finds himself wondering when Jeff might have had the time to take masseuse classes, as the patterns he starts rubbing with his thumbs between Harry’s shoulder blades have him biting back tiny moans and wiggling against the sheets. 

“Ooh. Go back to that other spot. Left—almost. _Yeah_ , right there,” Harry breathes, slipping further into bonelessness. 

Jeff, who has been straddling the backs of Harry’s thighs, suddenly shifts his weight up and off. 

Harry turns to look over his shoulder. “Where are you—oh.” 

Face red as a tomato, Jeff drops a hand to cover his groin, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin the moment. You just, uhm. Sound...you know.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Harry says. 

Sex has been the farthest thing from his mind for months now, since he was seven months along with Jamie and as big as a house. Now, he barely has the energy to tie his own shoes. His sex drive has literally fallen off the map, which is to be expected; low estrogen levels and an increase of oxytocin mean that his libido has been replaced with the singular desire to take care of their baby. 

Still, he doesn’t expect Jeff to be in the same boat. It’s only natural. Harry actually might be concerned (or offended) if Jeff remained totally unaffected. 

“You sure?” Jeff asks.

“Positive. My chest is starting to get a little sore anyway,” Harry admits.

Jeff’s weight lifts off him entirely as he kneels next to Harry’s hip. His mouth opens and closes twice, eyes on the sheets under them. 

“What?” Harry prompts. 

“I just...I looked something up. To see if I could help. And uhm. I dunno if you’d be interested or not,” Jeff says. 

“Help with what?” Harry’s heart starts to beat a little faster. He hates not knowing where a conversation is going, even if he trusts Jeff implicitly. 

Jeff sighs. “Can I show you?”

Harry hesitates. He wants to reach down and pull the sheets up over himself. He feels too exposed right now, not just in his nakedness but because he realizes what Jeff might mean. Still, the hopeful look in Jeff’s eyes has him nodding. 

If Jeff is surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Okay. Yeah. I—you can stay just like that. Just relax.”

In Harry’s experience, being told to relax almost always has the opposite effect. However, even as Jeff squeezes out some more lotion onto his fingertips and reaches for his chest, Harry doesn’t feel any additional nervousness other than the good little flutters he gets whenever Jeff touches him. 

Harry’s chest is the fullest it’s ever been, tender and swollen and always leaking at inopportune moments. His nipples are dry and cracked, no matter how many products he uses to try and combat it. And despite his and his body’s best efforts, his milk production is still lacking, forcing him and Jeff to supplement Jamie’s food supply with formula. 

It’s not a matter of method; he doesn’t feel that one option is better than the other, he’s just happy if his baby is fed. But it does wound him a bit, that he can’t successfully do one of the things that he wants so badly. 

That’s why Harry stiffens a bit when Jeff’s fingers make their initial contact, the pressure a bit more firm than he’s used to, and different than the sensation of the pump he despises. 

Jeff is watching his face, keeping his movements slow and careful as he rubs circles into Harry‘s skin, not unlike his earlier massage technique, starting at the top and working his way down closer to his nipple. 

Harry’s mouth drops open wordlessly, at both the instant relief of pressure and the static buzz that travels from the top of his spine and settles somewhere low in his belly. He grips the sheets on either side of him, needing an outlet for the conflicting energy swirling inside of him as Jeff continues to work, fingers moving clockwise around the swell of muscle and fatty tissue, covering as much ground as possible. 

With his eyes on the ceiling, Harry lets out a shaky breath. “If you wanted to feel me up, all you had to do was ask,” he jokes, in an effort to diffuse his mounting panic—not because he’s uncomfortable or in any sort of pain, and certainly not because he wants Jeff to stop, but because he likes it in a way that isn’t strictly innocent. 

The realization is startling, and undeniably solidified when Jeff leans down and presses his lips just to the right of his nipple in a contrastingly sweet gesture that has Harry’s hips twitching on their own accord. 

“Not feeling you up. I’m _helping_ ,” Jeff says with an air of smugness that suggests he knows exactly what he’s doing, before fitting those same lips over Harry’s nipple and sucking softly, a barely-there sensation. 

Harry doesn’t have it in him to be upset or angry. He knows that Jeff’s intentions are good, that he _is_ genuinely trying to help. But ultimately, he understands that above all else, Jeff often just wants Harry to feel good. So who is Harry to deny him that?

However, that fact doesn’t magically erase the gossamer shroud of guilt and uncertainty Harry has been wearing lately. His view of his own body has changed to something a little more utilitarian since Jamie’s birth. He feels powerful and strong (despite his tiredness) and deeply connected to Jeff and their baby, but for nine months he grew and entire human and then braved thirty hours of labor. 

He served an extraordinary purpose that people have been doing since the beginning of time, and it was magical and undisputedly difficult and everything he wanted it to be. But his body doesn’t feel his own anymore, or at least not _entirely_ his. Their baby needs him, for comfort and care and for eating. So much of his time lately has been dedicated to holding him and loving him and being a parent, his own wants and desires seem very far away. So isn’t it a bit selfish, enjoying something that isn’t supposed to be for his enjoyment? 

It’s why he gasps and pushes Jeff’s head away. His sweet, attentive husband who’s eyes immediately go wide and panicked. 

“Sorry,” Jeff rushes out. “Sorry, I—I should’ve asked first.”

Harry hates feeling like this, full of seemingly irreconcilable things: wanting to comfort and be comforted, wanting to be understood but not wanting to explain himself, wanting to give in to what his body wants and wanting to be angry with himself for having those urges. 

He swallows past the lump in his throat; another thing to add to the list of ways control over his own body feels like it’s slipping through his fingers like sand. He can’t tell if it’s just hormones or if he actually wants to cry. 

“It’s okay,” Harry says, a bit cracked and thin. He can tell just by the tilt of Jeff’s mouth that he doesn’t believe him. 

But can Harry admit that it felt good? That he wants Jeff to do it again? Because he thinks that the mix of sharpness and heat might be the most perfect thing in the world? Harry doesn’t want Jeff to think he’s a freak for enjoying something so similar to what their child does to _eat_ ; he’s not sure he could weather that type of judgement, especially when he’s still so unsure of it himself. The two things are totally separate in his mind. They aren’t the same, despite appearances and sensation. They’re _not_. 

Which is why Harry breathes and mumbles, “I—you. Uhm. Felt...nice.” 

Slowly, giving Harry the time to stop him if he wants, Jeff thumbs over Harry’s nipple. “Yeah?” he asks, his face suddenly boyish, a little smirky but mostly still cautious.

“Yeah,” Harry whispers, arching into the touch.

Jeff refits his lips over Harry’s nipple, this time taking more skin into his mouth and sucking a bit harder. With one hand, he holds Harry’s waist gently, a perfect counterbalance to the less-than-delicate treatment of his chest; with his other hand, he reaches up and cups the opposite side of Harry’s chest, using the flat of his warm palm to rub in small circular motions. 

Harry tries to bite his lip to keep a whine from escaping but it’s no use. Harry is an instrument and Jeff is a maestro, playing him masterfully and drawing sounds from the deepest parts of Harry’s lungs, pitchy falsettos and low, bassy grunts that tumble out of him like pebbles against a riverbed. 

Jeff pulls back, just for a moment, and the rush of cool air feels incredible against Harry’s skin where he feels like he’s practically blazing. But before he can grow accustomed to the sensation, Jeff is switching sides, making Harry gasp and shiver and cant his hips upwards. 

Long gone are his feelings of apprehension and uncertainty; they’ve been replaced by the primal urges of his baser instincts. He’s like one giant nerve ending, pulsing with want and need. 

Perhaps belatedly, Harry realizes that he’s half hard, arousal swirling in his lower belly, hot and tight. Jeff has to feel it, as he’s pressed right up against it with the way he’s lying mostly on top of him. But Harry is thankful that he doesn’t seem to be paying it any mind, focused on laving his tongue over every inch of Harry’s chest that he can, while simultaneously continuing massaging with his fingers. 

Harry closes his eyes and gives himself fully over to everything that’s happening. He’s in the privacy of his home with the man he loves. No one can shame him or take this away from him. 

Except, Harry is forced to open his eyes and come back down to Earth when Jeff suddenly retreats, his weight shifting as he holds himself up with his arms on either side of Harry’s ribs. 

“What—” Harry starts to ask, but finds himself stopping as he glances down at his own chest. 

It’s probably the most milk he’s seen himself produce in such a short span of time, ever. His entire chest and the top of his belly are both shiny, covered in a thin film of off-white liquid. He thought things felt a little wet before, but he assumed it was just sweat. Evidently he was wrong. 

“Oh God,” Harry warbles. Immediately, the guilt comes flooding back, making all of his organs twist up violently. He’s been so _selfish_ , and now the thing that’s supposed to feed their baby is being _wasted_ because Harry let himself and Jeff get too carried away.

Like Jeff can read his mind, he catches Harry’s gaze and says, “Babe, listen to me. It’s fine. You—”

“It’s not fine! I—today I had to give Jamie a bottle almost every time he ate, but what? A bath and... _this_ , and suddenly everything is in perfect working order?"

Jeff sits back on his heels, giving Harry some much needed space. “This wasn’t my intention, okay? I just wanted to see if it might help. And then...I dunno. I thought you liked it. So I kept going. I didn’t mean to go too far.”

The clench of Harry’s gut intensifies. He wants to shrink back into his own skin until he’s nothing but a speck. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I’m not blaming you. So don’t do that. I know you were just trying to help.” All of their blankets have been kicked down to the bottom of the bed, so there’s nothing for Harry to pull over himself. Instead, he hugs his knees to his chest, needing a bit of coverage when he feels so splayed open. 

Jeff swallows. “So what’s the matter? I don’t want you being angry with yourself either, you know. There are some things you have no control over, and this is one of them.”

Harry looks up at the ceiling in an effort to keep his sudden tears at bay. “I know it’s not my fault, but it feels like it _is_. There’s something I’m not doing right, or maybe—”

“Harry, no. I don’t know how many times me and the doctors have to tell you this, but it’s not your fault. It just happens to some people. You’re doing everything you can.”

Harry sighs, shaky on the exhale. This circular conversation is too familiar. He’s tired of repeating himself and he knows Jeff is too. There’s a part of Harry, deep down, that recognizes Jeff’s words as true. But the irrational, sleep-deprived, hormonal part of himself is often louder and more insistent, letting him walk down the path of self-flagellation. Tonight, though, he doesn’t want to fight. So he nods and makes a conscious effort to lower his shoulders from where they’ve crept up near his ears, actively releasing all of the tension he’s been holding. 

“I know,” he concedes. “Just feels shitty, is all.”

Without a second of hesitation, Jeff knee walks over and wraps his arms around Harry, pulling his head against his shoulder. “C’mere. You’re too hard on yourself, babe.” Jeff kisses the top of his head. “Let’s get you cleaned up and into some pajamas before you catch a cold or something.”

The promise of warm clothes is incredibly attractive, but there’s something Harry wants to try first. “Mm. In a minute,” Harry mumbles into the skin of Jeff’s neck. It’s easier to ask from this position, tucked into safety. “Can you, uhm. Get the pump for me, please? I dunno. Wanna see if there’s anything left.”

Jeff pauses for a moment before squeezing Harry more tightly. “Yeah. Yes, of course. Be right back.”

While Jeff is gathering the pump and all of its necessary attachments, Harry busies himself with readjusting the sheets and duvet, tucking himself under the covers so only his still-sticky chest is exposed. 

Jeff returns shortly, dutiful and patient and the person Harry is so happy to be sharing his life with, setting everything up for Harry without even being asked. 

Harry touches his forearm lightly, Jeff’s eyes flicking up to meet his. “Hey,” Harry says softly. “I love you.”

Jeff smiles, easy as anything. He’s just as tired as Harry is, if the purple shadows under his eyes are any indication. “I love you too,” he says. 

Harry gets himself hooked up to all of the necessary parts, making sure everything is fitted properly, before turning the machine on. He starts with the speed up and the suction low, preemptively wincing, waiting for the dull ache of another fruitless endeavor, but he’s pleasantly shocked when things start flowing almost immediately. With a grin and shaking fingers, he turns the speed down and the suction up, a giant wave of relief washing over him. 

Jeff, who’s reclined against the headboard next to Harry, elbows him lightly. “See? You got it.”

“If I could move right now, I’d kiss you,” Harry says seriously.

“Me? For what?’

Harry rolls his eyes, smiling. He still feels a little jumbled, like he got tossed into a jar and shaken around. But he’s landed on his feet. They both have. “Seriously. Whatever you did, it helped.”

Jeff’s cheeks darken a bit. “I might have oversold my unselfish intentions earlier. Wait—don’t give me that look. I really did want to help, and I’m happy it’s working. I don’t like seeing you so miserable. But also, you look sexy as fuck. And I’ve been, like, dying to get my hands on you,” Jeff admits, speech getting quicker at the end. 

“You’re joking,” Harry scoffs. “I—I look like a swamp creature.” 

Just as Jeff opens his mouth to reply, the baby monitor on the bedside table lets out a loud crackle, followed shortly by a muted whimper. Both Harry and Jeff sit completely still, only the whir of the pump audible, as they wait to see if Jamie is going to wake up or not. 

After almost a full minute passes with no other sounds from the monitor, they finally allow themselves to relax again. 

“He did that last night, too. Woke up a couple of times and fell back asleep before I could get in there,” Jeff says. 

“He’s getting independent. Pretty soon we’ll be sending him off to college,” Harry jokes, unable to hide the very real bittersweet note in his voice. His flow is starting to slow down, but the bottles attached to the pump are both nearing half full, so he turns down the dials and powers the machine down. 

“Let’s get him walking and maybe, like, eating solid food first,” Jeff offers with a quiet laugh. 

While Harry is capping both bottles and putting the pump back in its case, Jeff pads into the bathroom, where Harry can hear the tap running briefly. Jeff returns with damp washcloth. 

“Here, let me,” he says, arm already outstretched towards Harry’s chest. With soft, gentle swipes, Jeff cleans up any remaining moisture on and around Harry’s nipples, and with some firmer scrubs, wipes up the lingering stickiness from earlier. 

Harry pulls Jeff’s head down with a hand on the back of his neck when he’s finished, kissing him like he’s been wanting to for a while now. “Thank you.”

Jeff puts the washcloth in the hamper. Harry gets dressed, finally, pulling on his favorite pair of sweatpants and one of Jeff’s big t-shirts with a hole in the right armpit. Together, they head down the hall and poke their heads into Jamie’s room, finding him asleep and just as perfect as they left him, dressed in his onesie with his protective mittens covering his little hands. 

They tumble back into bed, this time with the lights off and with every intention of going to sleep. They’re both exhausted, from the general newness of parenthood that they haven’t quite adjusted to yet, and from the evening’s events. Despite the ups and downs, everything worked out in the end. 

Harry burrows his face into his pillow, Jeff’s arm securely around his waist, his eyelids fluttering closed. 

“Hey,” Jeff’s voice cuts through the silence. “Before I forget, I just wanna let you know that human milk is _surprisingly_ sweet.” 

Harry groans and laughs. “Jeffrey, _please_ be quiet.”


End file.
